99 Variations on a Proof, Philip Ordlin (the last two were recommendations from post.news over the past few months)
Not shown:
In the West, Avedon, a big birthday splurge (let’s hope the “cheap” $100 copy from Amazon isn’t totally beat up when it arrives)
How to Say Goodbye, Wendy MacNaughton. The preorder was just announced. Unfortunately this subject will be all too relevant as I cross through my mid 40’s.
Absolutely on Music, Murakami & Ozawa
I Think, Therefore I Draw, Cathcart & Klein (the last two were lucky library finds from yesterday’s excursion).
After college, I moved into a small garage apartment. At $450 per month, it was a steal to have my own place, a 168 square foot studio with a free parking spot in the driveway.
I tried to start a container garden in that driveway. It faced north so nothing survived except onions, but it changed my life one morning by attracting a feral bunny (as I headed out to inquire about an internship at Dwell Magazine). I never saw that little guy again (and Dwell never called back), but the moment of staring deep into the eyes of another creature led to adopting two rabbits and a season of volunteering at the House Rabbit Society.
The interior of this converted single car garage was painted light yellow to maximize the natural light. Even though the window orientations were not ideal, it still had glass in two directions with a window over the kitchenette and a big glass patio door looking into the back yard.
I built custom bookshelves, borrowing a table saw from the Berkeley tool library to with split 2×2’s clamped around PVC pipes. I maximized every cubic inch for my books and my rabbits. It was tight, but there was just enough space to clank out fifty thousand words for a NaNoWriMo T-shirt, clean up on Monday Nights for Irish dancing at the Starry Plough, and assemble portfolios for graduate schools.
Twenty years ago, I drew this top down, single-point perspective as one of the projects in those portfolios.
When I left, I swore I’d return to this city that I loved so dearly.
My parents dropped by our place in the morning to give the kids polished stones from a roadside stand on the way to the Grand Canyon. After they left, the girl sorted the collection before coming inside for breakfast.
I wrote this in August of 2021, on what should have been the first day of instruction in my new Education Academic Building at Nevada State College.
~
I walked onsite to address an issue that popped up in the new building. I wondered if first day of school would bring a legion of students sharing the latest version of the newest germs.
It was dead quiet. Just like the last eighteen months.
Ain’t that how life messes with our dreams? We imagine a blaze of glory.
We get a puff and a fizz.
Next time won’t be a pandemic, but it’ll be something. Moments are never pristine in real life.
But if the work was done right, Maybe that imperfect flash might leave a lasting mark.
~
Following my music theme from the past couple of OPM letters, I just came across this Bandcamp Weekly show. It’s exactly what I consider “cultured” music — eclectic, jazzy, world-ish, safely edgy. I feel seen. The girl calls it “restaurant music”.
Surfing on Bandcamp, I stumbled across Mille Morceau which has a surreal, architectural album cover. As I stared at it, I suddenly felt destabilized. Is this AI? The ground fell out from under me. It was a physical reaction even though I was just lying in bed. I need to explore this further.
I’ve been excited to read the newsletter 23 Sherwood Drive every day. Jo Paoletti collects journal notes over the years, interspersing it with commentary. As I slide past middle age, I treasure reading the reflections of someone who is a few steps ahead of me. It’s voyeuristic and edifying.
A lizard sunned on a tree stump. With a bright blue chin. It ran away, then stopped. Flashing pushups, it watched my withdrawal.
Spaceship walk! He climbed onto my back for a better view of the lake. As I put him down, he grabbed my collar and whispered, Actually, I don’t want to walk anymore.
As we walked towards the pond, A duck flew in to join two companions. Quack. Quack! Quack!
Quack. Quack! Quack! Quack! Quack! Quack! It flew away.
A jackrabbit froze on gravel road. It darted of when the kids clomped down the hill. We told you to stop! But he started first!
We saw a propane grill on a pickup truck. Someone people are better at partying, Even at a State park, Especially at a State park.
Teaching is the role of the institution. Education is the task of the student. The critic’s job is two-fold — to say what is on their mind and to give the student something new to think about.
Two years ago, I was a critter for a Master’s studio in Hospitality Design. It was the last review of their academic careers, ending on the whimper of a zoom call.
Day-long zoom conferences aren’t fun for the critters either, but I broke up the screen time monotony by grabbing the laptop and doing chores during presentations of students who had obviously mailed it in. It was nice that I could write a couple terse notes in chat, instead of giving them a tongue lashing as I might have done in person.
In spite of this sterile environment, it was a pleasure to be reminded of the dream of Architecture. I’m so buried in the practice, I forget the possibilities. I have always had a practical bent, and this was a fun antidote. Of course everything was crazy and impractical. That’s the point. They’ve got the rest of their careers to be as boring as I am.
Form, the design itself Formula, your process Formal, the craft – how you do it.
The other benefit was learning from other architects. When I was in school, it always seemed like the critters were preening in front of the other critters. Now I know why — they were talking to each other! Wes Robbins stood out as an older architect who shared his rich experience throughout the review, including both quotes in this letter.
Before this event I had attended a couple of “gallery” reviews where the folks pin up in the hallway and the critters mingle and chat. However, I’ve never been a part of a formal review.
This is harder than I expected. It’s not easy to stay alert and judge stuff all day, with a hard shift every half hour. It was tiring to meet the students where they were at. I see why in-person reviews can go vicious. I could be sanguine about shoddy work cause housework salvaged the time. If I had to sit in a chair to watch the craft be disrespected by the worst of the presentations … whohooo …
Hopefully the kids got something from their last event in school. By now, they’ve been in this cruel practice for two years. I hope they’re persevering and growing — this profession needs them more than they need us.
Congratulations to Loreen for winning this year’s Eurovision Contest with “Tattoo“. But power ballads aren’t my thing.
So let’s celebrate this most flamboyant of contests with last year’s ridiculous winner. “Stefania” is exactly what I want from a Eurovision winner — an over the top, earnest mix of pop and ethnic sounds, and a little (or lot) trashy. As a cis hetero male, I don’t mind a little titallation, but this sausage party checked every other box as well as being a geopolitical sentimental favorite.
I first heard about the song contest on an early No Agenda podcast (before I tired of its conspiracy theory schtick) and followed it with the rise of Youtube. One of my favorite memories in Houston was watching all three broadcasts of the 2011 contest as the computer overheated in our small apartment.
Then two little humans got in the way of this time-wasting pleasure.
We live in an artificial world where the seasons are blunted by technology. It’s helpful to overlay texture onto the year. It’s one of the appeals of sport and Eurovision does the same with it’s process of submissions, national, preliminary, and final contests.
Not as nourishing as a CSA box, but a lot more outlandish.
Between the kids’ school calendar and work’s legislative cycle I’ve got all the artificial seasonal markers that I can handle at the moment. Maybe I’ll return to Eurovision after I retire….it might be more fun than adopting a liturgical calendar.
To celebrate our 10 year anniversary, I’m sharing this house that has been a part of our marriage for 9 years and 7 months.
The 1,100 sf house was constructed in 1952 and needed a complete renovation.
Along with an complete update of the plumbing and electrical systems, the kitchen was rearranged with the former laundry room opened up for interior access and the insertion of a new powder room within the existing footprint.
Exterior work included a new roof, retrofitting the carport structure, and new concrete flatwork.
We performed the work as owner, architect, and general contractor overseeing the major trades. We also installed and refinished the interior throughout the house.
Project Description
This project was a constant irritant for four years, and we only lived in it for a few months. But it was worth it. We’ve had a great tenant for the last five years, and it set me up for the second phase of my career.
I had always been an employee without subordinates. This was the first time I managed other people. I suspect the hard won experience in difficult negotiations and contractor conflicts came through in my interview, helping me grab this job and preparing me to be an Owner PM.
Every architect should remodel their house, once.
This remodel also taught me to treasure the moment and trust my wife.
By the time we moved in, she was pregnant with the boy. Once he arrived, we moved back in with her parents so they could help with the kids. Then the girl started school in their neighborhood and we never came back.
The universe doesn’t care how long you’ve taken to pursue a dream. Maybe you’ll get nothing, but sometimes it will be kind. Be grateful for those moments, however short. We got a Thanksgiving and Christmas in our house.
Victory is fleeting, and time moves fast. This experience taught me to be picky with my commitments. I learned to focus on activities where I’ve already won by merely doing. (That’s why I’ll never do another house remodel!)
Remodeling isn’t easy with two architects. I tend to rush, but she would sense something amiss and pause. So we’d stop. And think. And redesign. Again and again.
Each delay took days, but it kept getting better. Replay this drama a few times and I got the message. If she’s not ready, then I know something is wrong. I learned to trust her instincts.
I suspect most folks can learn such lessons without a miserable house remodel, but this was our crucible. Here’s to a decade, let’s hope for many more!
Last week, our daughter designed and built a roller coaster from materials at home. Watching the girl press against her 3rd grade deadline surfaced messy memories of late night college studios.
